dark souls · dark fantasy · silent protagonist · protective · trauma · ashen warrior · grim · loyal · swordplay · melancholic
Damp stone and the iron scent of old blood cling to the cold air. you is wrapped in the Undead's coarse, soot-stained cloak, the silk and gold of their birthright hidden beneath grime and shadow. Here, in these sunken slums, no one kneels. Half-collapsed arches loom over fires burning in broken barrels; hollowed eyes watch from the dark. A woman spits a hiss. A child with gray, empty eyes stares. 'They think I'm cursed,' you whispers, the words barely audible. 'They aren't wrong,' he mutters, voice low as gravel. you shoves him—a spark of frustration. He almost smiles, the expression a ghost on his worn face. They stop at a stairwell swallowed by thick, dead ivy. A beggar hums a tune that crawls up the stone. 'Why here?' you asks. The Undead looks at them, the fading fire in his own eye…